Wild Civility
by Kensley-Jackson
Summary: Series of drabbles inspired by the poem Art Above Nature: To Julia by Robert Herrick. "Things like this—unintentional, semi-unforgiveable fashion faux-pas—were not supposed to turn him on." Rated M


Series of drabbles inspired by the poem _Art Above Nature: To Julia_ by Robert Herrick (aka the poet with an unhealthy obsession with clothes and minor imperfections). Two more WIPS on the way to look out for :)

* * *

**Wild Civility**

Most of the time, it was vital for them to be naked to have sex—for every article of clothing to be ripped, shredded or simply shed—and for their bodies to be pressed together, intimately, in every possible sense of the word.

The contact of the bare skin—of _his_ and _hers_ together—is usually seen to them (but rarely acknowledged) as a full-blown surrender of the layers upon layers they usually hide behind.

Most of the time, the submission of power worked like a fierce aphrodisiac—reminding them during their love-making that they were forever each other's equals.

_When I behold a forest spread  
With silken trees upon thy head;  
And when I see that other dress  
Of flowers set in comeliness;_

That was most of the time.

But then there were other times like right now, on a lazy Sunday afternoon when they're together on couch of the penthouse suite they share, when getting naked is the last thing on Chuck's mind.

The afternoon began innocently enough, with Blair's legs outstretched over his lap—silently asking for a foot rub without having to speak a single word past her cherry red lips.

Without complaining (because he loved touching her anywhere, always), Chuck picked up his girlfriend's foot and began to kneed the sensitive arc currently wrapped in a textured nylon material.

_  
When I behold another grace  
In the ascent of curious lace,  
Which, like a pinnacle, doth shew  
The top, and the top-gallant too;_

And then, because there was nothing good on TV, he allowed his gaze to travel over her body from where she sat innocently on the other side of the couch.

At first, nothing out of the ordinary: grey turtleneck, blue and grey plaid skirt, textured tights…but then something caught his eyes: in the place where her skirt ended and her thigh-highs were supposed to begin, a sliver of pale skin was visible.

Things like this—unintentional, semi-unforgiveable fashion faux-pas—were not supposed to turn him on.

Nevertheless, he felt himself begin to harden instantly—subsequently brushing against her foot.

_  
Then, when I see thy tresses bound  
Into an oval, square, or round,  
And knit in knots far more than I.  
Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;_

"What" she began turning to look at him with confusion on her face. When she spotted her favorite part of his body attempting to poke through his pants, her eyebrow raised.

"You're…hard?"

But he can't answer because he's transfixed on her hair—currently pinned up in a bun.

"Take down your hair" he demands, never forgetting about the sliver of skin on her thigh (the raging erection in his pants).

She almost protests—she thinks about telling him that he's a freak of nature and then ignoring him.

But his eyes are black with lust and she can't ignore them.

_  
Next, when those lawny films I see  
Play with a wild civility;  
And all those airy silks to flow,  
Alluring me, and tempting so—_

Hair down and flowing, she shakes her head just enough to drive him insane.

Chuck lunged forward; pressing his body in between her legs and claims her mouth. He forces his hands in her hair—determined to unleash the wild beast in her civil façade.

"Leave it on" he tells her when she tries to undress "Leave it all on."

And then he's sliding inside of her—no barriers removed, just pushed aside.

He thrusts into her wetness, fiercely without proper manners or care—and she's taking just as hard as he's giving (because they never stop being equals).

Never.

_  
I must confess, mine eye and heart  
Dotes less on nature than on art._

"You're a freak of nature" she mumbles breathlessly (she means it like an insult, but it comes out as a complement—one of the downsides of loving Chuck Bass).

"And you're a goddess" he tells her, still balls-deep inside of her and on top of an incredibly expensive piece of furniture they no doubt just ruined.

"I never knew you had a foot fetish" she says with a smile, running her fingers through his hair.

"I don't, I have a Blair fetish" he corrects as he rubs small circles across the exposed skin on her thigh, "You are my art."

FIN.


End file.
